In Plain Sight
by Kybo
Summary: Twelve years after Harry Potter disappeared from that fateful third task, Ron Weasley is faced with strange new occurances that force him to question what he thought he believed. AU from end of fourth year- not slash
1. Chapter 1

So, I haven't written anything in a very long time, and I figure now's a good time to change that. I have been facing a ridiculous bout of writer's block, and as I'm a Creative Writing major and a dramatic writing minor, this poses something of a problem, and I realized that I really need to write something, anything. So while looking around the internet for ideas, I stumbled on that first paragraph after the newspaper articles, and this idea popped into my head. Not sure how long it will last, but I will try my best to finish this one. Reviews always help! Hopefully my writing has improved from the last train-wrecks I've written for ffn (dot) net. I don't have a beta, so sorry for any mistakes.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the other characters. I would not be a broke college student if I did.

With that said, enjoy! (And please, please, pleeeeease review!)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"_**Tragedy at Triwizard-Potter and Diggory still Missing!**_

_ It's been two weeks since Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory vanished from the third task in the Triwizard Tournament. The event was supposed to wrap up the international tournament, finishing that night with the final award ceremony and a grand feast. However, these planned celebrations never took place. More and more we are drawn into the mystery surrounding the fateful third task. _

_ The triwizard cup placed at the center of the maze should have been a portkey that would bring the triumphant champion back to the edge of the maze. It was a portkey alright, though where it disappeared to, officials are still working to discover. It is little consolation that in order for both Potter and Diggory to disappear, they must have reached the cup at the same time; earning a tie and a victory for Hogwarts. Unfortunately, neither boy has returned to celebrate his victory, and authorities are working diligently to bring them home. _

_ A shocking discovery has come to the Prophet's attention just this morning; it was discovered that the Durmstrang champion, Victor Krum himself, had been held under the imperius curse during the third task. While under the curse he attacked the Beauxbatons champion, Fleur Delacour. As if that were not enough, it was found that he cast the cruciatus curse—a torture curse that can land the caster a life-time imprisonment in Azkaban prison—at another champion. As Delacour showed no signs of suffering under the curse, we are forced to speculate; who was Krum forced to torture? Who cast the imperius on him? And what else has the ministry discovered that they have not told us? _

_ But the most pressing question remains: where are Harry and Cedric?_

_-Penny McCann, Daily Prophet_"

~*~*~*~*~

"_**Body of Missing Champion is Found**_

_ Over three weeks after the tragic third task of the Triwizard Tournament, the body of Cedric Diggory was found outside the Ministry of Magic early this morning. There was evidence found that he had been killed only a week or so after his disappearance._

_ "This is a terrible tragedy." Commented Minister Fudge. "We send our condolences to the Diggory family. I am truly sorry that we could not do more."_

_ I wonder what the ministry could have done to prevent this, and what they are doing now to search for Harry Potter, who still remains missing. We can only imagine the horrors he must have faced, or still is facing. The minister, as well as Albus Dumbledore have assured the public that they still continue to hold hope that Potter will be found, and we continue to hold out hope for his return. _

_-Penny McCann, Daily Prophet"_

_~*~*~*~*~_

It was just the driving rain and the liquidity of the mud that made them look like child's footprints.

Ron had no idea how long he had been following them, or even why. He wondered if he was simply keeping himself busy, distracting himself from the squealing in his ears, the festering wound in his thigh, the cold numbing his face and fingers, the knowledge that everyone in his squad was dead, that he was alone and lost in this cemetery, this sewer, this labyrinth. This fucking forest.

It had been twelve years since Harry had disappeared.

Almost twelve years since Voldemort launched a surprise attack from out of nowhere. He had widely been believed to be dead, defeated. He wasn't, and Dumbledore could only guess at what had happened to Harry for Voldemort to get a body back. None of his ideas involved Harry living, and after several months, everyone seemed to agree that he was dead; his body lost, or hidden, or whatever. Not even Dumbledore could figure that one out; he had suspected that Voldemort would want the trophy, that he would make even a grander presentation of sending his mutilated remains back to the public than he had of poor Cedric. But it never happened.

Voldemort's assault had been quick, and it had been devastating. The ministry had fallen within a week of the assault, and Britain's wizarding world had split up into several factions: those who resisted Voldemort, those who stayed in hiding, and those who did what they were told and tried to stay alive in an occupied world. Many good people had died in a short time.

It was all Dumbledore could do to lock off the castle to any outsiders and to find a way to protect the students within, but somehow, he did. He held them out for nearly three years, while hosting the students and several of their families and locals from Hogsmeade. When Voldemort had finally broken in, Dumbledore had managed to evacuate almost the entire Howarts population. He had barely escaped with his life, and it had taken the better part of a month for him to recover from that latest battle.

Ron reached up with a shaking hand and wiped the rain water dripping into his eyes. Mud was plastered across his face, and he tried scraping it away, letting the pounding rain wipe it down his skin. All around him were trees, dark and imposing, leering down at him from hidden heights. Still his eyes followed the ground at his feet, and the occasional soft water-filled mark. They really did look like footprints. Maybe someone else had escaped the slaughter.

And it was a slaughter. After the fall of Hogwarts, Dumbledore gathered as many resistors as he could in a series of secure locations. They would go out guerilla-style, attacking groups of death eaters or stealing needed supplies from death eater stores. They would receive tip-offs from anonymous sources that Dumbledore would confirm, then they would go to strike hard and fast against the enemy.

This last tip-off had sounded like the perfect opportunity to destroy a series of greenhouses being hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest next to the shelled-out remains of the once great Hogwarts castle. These greenhouses supplied Voldemort's troops with the necessary materials to experiment with any number of foul potions, as well as providing for all the healing potions they needed. The mission had a two-part purpose: gather necessary ingredients for medicinal potions, and destroy the greenhouses.

It had been a trap.

As soon as Ron and his fighters had arrived with his squad, they had been under attack from a force far greater than his own. Retreating deeper into the forest had led to confusion and chaos, men dropping left and right. Ron had only survived on a lucky happenstance. He had taken a hit to his leg that had dropped him out of the way of a follow-up AK. He had fallen backwards, tripping over a log, the green haze of the killing curse passing so close over his head he'd felt it singing his skin. Landing awkwardly on his back, he'd found himself sliding down an embankment away from the battle, a boulder waiting for him at the bottom. He'd been knocked out, and had woken up to nothing but the silence and the rain and the stench that always followed battles: the smoke and burned flesh, the coppery tang of blood. He doubted he'd be able to smell anything else for a long time.

So now here he was, stumbling like a drunk through the dark forest, his mind a haze of pain and exhaustion, his leg throbbing in time with his heartbeat. He was unwilling to test if the apparition wards covering most of the forest were still active; usually anti-apparition wards would simply stop a wizard from trying to escape. These wards wouldn't stop anyone, but as soon as they tried apparating, it would splinch them into so many pieces it would take years to find every missing part.

The pseudo-prints he'd been following cut out, and Ron staggered to a halt, looking around. The trees here looked just the same as every other tree he'd been walking past; dark, tall, and imposing. They were grouped together tightly so he had to weave around and through them to get by. Sighing, he turned around in a circle, his numb fingers tracing the patterns on the ring Dumbledore had given all his fighters. It was supposed to be an emergency portkey, but somehow it had been neutralized by the wards surrounding the greenhouses. Picking a couple trees at random, he swiped away the spider web connecting them squeezed through, starting to walk again.

Now he was looking around, he noticed that there seemed to be quite a few spider webs holding up under the onslaught of rain, proving they had to be heavy duty to last under this deluge. He used to be deathly afraid of spiders when he'd been at school, but somehow, after everything else he'd seen, he just couldn't muster the terror anymore. Something tickled at the back of his mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger to it. Pushing aside more webs, he carefully traced his way across the forest floor.

A scratching noise sounded up ahead, and Ron froze, raising his wand in a numb grasp, listening. It sounded like something scraping a piece of wood, a tree probably, up ahead and to his left. Cautiously, trying to focus his hazy and wandering mind on the task at hand, he made his way towards the noise. There was a stand of trees to his left, four or five of them grouped tightly together. The scratching seemed to be emanating from just on the other side. Gripping his wand tighter, he limped forward towards a small gap between the trunks of two of the trees. It would be a tight fit, but he could slip through. Get a stunner off before anyone realized he was there.

He took a deep breath, gripping the two trees and stepping forward, noticing the acrid smell of the battle still clung to him like a blanket, and stepped through the gap.

A giant tree had fallen on the other side, the trunk wider than Ron was tall. His little grove of trees closed in to his right, and to his left there was a small hole that someone could slip through to escape this little clearing. Ron didn't see it. He was staring straight ahead at the freshly carved words in the side of the log, looking like they'd been dug out of the wood with a sharp rock or knife.

'_Don't follow the spiders, Ron_'


	2. Chapter 2

_So here it is, chapter 2! Sorry for the long update time, and thanks to everyone who reviewed, I really appreciate it. So I might not update for the next couple of weeks; I kind of started this at a weird time, and I'm sure I'll be swamped with even more homework than I already am as finals come up. Hopefully I'll have something for you all quicker than I was able to get this chapter out. Now, on with the show._

_Disclaimer: HP universe is owned by JKR, and this is just for fun._

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I swear to you, Dumbledore, someone was there." Ron paced in front of the old man, scratching absent-mindedly at the lump where the bandage was still wrapped around his thigh.

"And you have proof?" Albus Dumbledore sat behind the small desk, his fingers steepled in front of his chin. He looked older than ever, the skin under his eyes hanging in weary bags. Yet his eyes still shone with that same old light as he concentrated on the words of his past student.

"I don't know. I was half delirious, but I could've sworn I was following footprints. I thought maybe someone else had escaped the battle, since none of the death eaters were running away, but they seemed too small to be anyone in my group. And then, there was the writing on the log."

"And it told you not to follow the spiders?"

"Yes. It said 'Don't follow the spiders, Ron." And really, the only people who knew about that were Hagrid, you, Fudge, Malfoy, and Harry. Hagrid's not back from his mission yet, and there's no way he'd be able to sneak around me even if I was half delusional, Harry is dead, Fudge is dead, and Malfoy is dead. I know I didn't write it, and you didn't either."

"And were there spiders?"

"Yeah. I had been walking around, lost, just following those damn footprints, then they disappeared, so I set off in some random direction." Ron continued pacing, gesturing with his hands as he talked.

"I'd started to notice that there were quite a few spider webs around me. That's when I heard the scratching. The log the words were written on, that was the log that Harry and I went through back in second year before we found Aragog. I'm sure of it. That's how I found my way out of that damn forest."

Dumbledore was silent as he pondered the story, his eyes distant. "I do not know what to say at this time, Ron, other than be extra-careful and watch for any more strange occurrences. If anything else happens, bring it to my attention immediately and we will see where we can go from there."

The distant look in his eyes vanished as he stood. Stepping around the tattered desk, he placed a hand on Ron's shoulder, forcing him to halt his nervous pacing. Ron met his eyes slowly, his mind still racing.

"Ronald, my dear boy, you need to take some time and relax for a few days. This has been a terrible time for all of us, and we must all recoup what energy we have. Especially you. Spend some time with your family, and with miss Granger. I will contact you when I have any new information."

He squeezed Ron's shoulder for a moment, before releasing him and taking a step back.

Ron stood for a moment, uncertain, not quite able to meet his mentor's gaze.

"Is there something you need to ask?" Dumbledore's voice was quiet, reassuring. Still not meeting his eyes, Ron took a deep breath, and spoke.

"Sir, is there anything I could have done? I should have been able to save them. They were my men, my responsibility, and they're dead now. How—?" He cut off, unable to continue.

Dumbledore sighed, sitting lightly on the edge of his desk. "Alas, we will never know if things could have gone differently, and it does not do to second-guess yourself. If you wish, after you take some time to gather your thoughts and recuperate, I will go through your memories with you, and we will learn what we can from this experience so as to ensure it does not happen again. But do not imagine that this is entirely your fault. We were all shocked to find the treachery we were faced with." He stood and moved forwards, opening the door for Ron.

"Do not dwell overmuch on it at this point. Rest, relax, and find some joy to hold onto in these dark days."

~*~*~*~*~

Dappled shadows played across the soggy foliage strewn over the earthen floor, dancing in the slight breeze playing through the forest.

In the distance, a bird's shrill cry pierced the air.

A smallish figure in tattered clothes skirted around the trunk of a massive tree, running his right hand over the rough surface. He looked around himself, taking in the glorious afternoon. The sky was clear, perfect for flying, and everything seemed to be washed clear after the heavy rain of the previous night.

His bare feet stepped silently over the muddy earth, and he whistled softly to himself. At his side, his left arm hung motionlessly, the forearm twisted at an unnatural angle. However, he didn't seem to notice it, and if it hurt, he didn't show any signs of his pain.

A deer bounded out of a thick copse of trees ahead of him and he slowed down slightly, a smile crossing his face.

"Hello there!" He called, waving his good arm. "And how are you doing today?"

The deer ignored him, choosing instead to examine a berry-laden bush. He stopped walking, and after shifting the weight of a large backpack strapped to his back, he stood and watched the deer eat. He was in no hurry, and his goal was near.

"Ah, those look good. Might I suggest the blackberry bush about two minutes back? That thing was loaded with good fruit."

The deer paid him no heed, continuing to nibble.

Just as the boy was passing behind the quiet animal, a screech rent the still air, causing both the boy and the deer to jump in surprise. Before either could react, a massive black creature dropped through the tree canopy, its large jaws snapping down over the unfortunate deer.

Harry Potter stared at the scene, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. He could see the brilliant purple eyes of the black dragon, and he vaguely recognized the dragon as a Hebridian Black.

The beast was making short work of the deer, and the once fine berry bush was now covered in a spray of blood.

Finally, Harry blinked, and he shut his mouth with a click. "Well," he conceded, "that was certainly unexpected."

He started to chuckle, shaking his head. "I tell you. Only in the Forbidden Forest."

Stepping forward, he placed his good hand against the rough back scales of the dragon's side, and stared up at the razor-sharp spines running the length of its back.

"Hagrid was right, you know." He told the dragon conversationally, trying to ignore the wet ripping noises as the beast devoured its meal. "You dragons really are a great bunch. Well, wicked-awesome, at least. That deer was only enjoying its meal. You could have waited for her to finish."

The dragon ignored him, and Harry continued patting the dragon's side.

A shout from the trees drew his attention.

"Get it!"

Spell fire shot out from the cover of the trees, and the Black roared in annoyance at having its meal interrupted. Harry stood still, looking around with an eyebrow raised.

"This really isn't a good spot to enjoy a meal, is it?" He turned back to the dragon.

"I'd suggest either eating these idiots or taking off before they hurt you."

The dragon was already ahead of him, spreading its massive, bat-like wings. Scooping up the mangled remains of the deer in its powerful jaws, it took off with a few massive strokes of its wings.

"Go Willy!" Harry shouted, throwing his broken arm in the air. "Be free!"

His hand drooped down, his fingers pointing grotesquely towards his elbow. As the black disappeared over the tree tops with another muffled roar, Harry regarded his multi-jointed limb with a vague look of curiosity.

Glancing back at the trees as the men began to leave, he called out, waving his flopping arm around like a sick parody of a flag.

"Now look what you made me do!" No one turned back, or even acknowledged the strange boy standing in the previously dragon-and-deer-occupied clearing. They kept walking, grumbling to each other.

Harry let his arm drop back to his side, twitching the limb quickly and locking it back into place.

"You know I'm going to have to get you back for that."

He set off through the trees, following the small group.

He honestly couldn't figure out how this location had slipped past his notice. All the times he'd made his way through the forest, he ought to have noticed at least something. Some sign of wizard activity—after all, they weren't that great at being subtle. Scratching idly at a bit of dried blood that had been just under his ear for quite some time now, he shrugged it off as the death munchers having actually set up some half-decent wards around the place.

Sure enough, after about two minutes of walking, he felt the rush of magic announcing the ward line wash over him. Up ahead, the forest had been cleared of trees, and four massive greenhouses had been erected. A few men were walking around the camp, carrying out various tasks accompanied with gardening.

Harry laughed as a man tripped and fell, the bag of fertilizer he'd been carrying ripping along the seam and dumping its contents over the unfortunate wizard. A large man in death eater robes hurried over to the scene, berating the man for his clumsiness.

Still chuckling, Harry walked past the scene and headed towards the nearest greenhouse. It stood about seven meters high, and on looking through the door, he could see a variety of plants that the greenhouses at Hogwarts would have been hard-pressed to match.

Of course he had no clue what any of them were, as it had been nearly twelve years since he'd attended his last herbology lesson, and he hadn't been all that interested even when he had been attending. Though, he had to admit, the devil's snare and mandrakes did stand out in his memory.

"Ah, the wonders of hands-on teaching." He glanced at a short, balding man standing guard just outside the door. "Wouldn't you say?"

The man ignored him, staring over at the now dung-covered man and the death eater who was still chewing him out. Harry didn't seem to mind being ignored. He slipped his bag off his shoulders and made his way around the corner of the building.

At the far corner, of the outside building, he dropped his bag and dug around inside before pulling out a small round device. He took a deep breath as a look of concentration covered his features. Sweat beaded on his brow as he gripped the device tightly and stared down at the spot where the wall met the earth.

Finally, he set the device down and quickly backed away. Taking another deep breath to steady his now somewhat labored breathing, he leapt forward, swinging his leg out, and kicked the device.

His foot went straight through it.

A grin spread over his features, and he scooped up his bag, heading to the next corner. He continued moving around the compound, placing a device at all four corners of each greenhouse, always concentrating hard on the device before setting it down, and always trying to kick it afterwards. He was especially careful at the front of the buildings, where there were people standing around who might notice something off.

But eventually, they were all placed, and Harry walked to the center of the clearing in front of the buildings. Waving his good arms around, he addressed everyone who was working there.

"Excuse me, ladies and germs! I have an announcement to make! Please, gather round!" He paused for a moment to watch a tall thin bloke with a mustache push a full wheelbarrow past him.

"Or, just keep working. As you wish. Anyway, I just want to say it's been fabulous working with you all, and I have just one word before we part." He pulled out a wand from his pocket, and concentrated, staring at the buildings. Energy began building at the tip, a pale green that seemed to be sucking air into the wand, causing Harry's hair to dance like in a heavy wind. Once the energy had gathered enough, he grinned at his non-audience.

"Boom."

The energy was release with a hurricane-like gust, hammering into the workers, who kept moving, not even twitching. However, at the corners of the greenhouses, the gale reached the little metal balls, and they rolled over.

They each beeped once, causing the guard to look around in surprise before—**BOOM!**

The explosions ripped through the compound, throwing people back. Harry saw the guard's head thrown forward from the debris as the flames wrapped around him. He looked around in time to see a long thin metal bar get launched away from the building. It spun wildly, arching through the air straight towards him.

Harry assumed a keeper's position, and as it approached, he dove forward, grabbing at it, yet it passed harmlessly through him. A wave of molten plasma rolled over him as he looked back to see where it had landed. The dung-covered man appeared to now be a death-muncher-kabob, well done.

"Huh." Harry stared at the scene. "Fifty points." He turned back to the wall of fire in front of him. "Well played."

The compound was decimated. Carnage covered the landscape. Most of the workers had been killed, and no one had escaped without injury. The clearing was a mess, burning rubble and debris strewn everywhere.

Looking around at the mayhem, Harry grinned and placed his hand on his hip. "Well, I think I'm done here. Have a good day, all. Nice to meet you."

He chuckled quietly to himself as he strode away from the blast site and into the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry hummed to himself as he limped down the dark London street. It was hazy out, and the moisture surrounded him, swirling in the light breeze that swept the area.

His bare feet made no noise as he walked, and his broken arm was held tightly to his side to prevent it swinging around. He pushed his unruly dirty hair away from his eyes, the missing glasses not even registering to him anymore.

A cat shot out from under a car ahead of him, and he jumped slightly. Recognizing the lack of danger, he grinned sheepishly and muttered to himself.

"A cat. Just a cat. Well done, Potter, twelve years and you're still jumping at the little stuff."

His eyes fell on a familiar sight, and his grin widened.

"Now if only the brooms would last longer than a single hour," He grumbled. "I wouldn't have to walk half the night to get here…"

He turned towards the small building, tucked between two shops that had closed for the night. Lights still showed through its windows; the Leaky Cauldron was rarely ever closed. He closed his eyes momentarily as he stepped _through_ the closed door, then blinked them open again, waiting for them to adjust to the light.

There were a few men huddled in the far corner of the bar, talking quietly. Another man sat at the bar, hunched slightly over his drink. The night crowd.

"How's it, Tom? Got some of that new ale in?"

The old man wiping down the counter ignored him. Harry turned away and stepped over to the man at the bar and leaned in close. He could tell the man was almost asleep, his eyelids hanging low over his eyes, which were the color of weak tea.

Harry leaned until his mouth was next to the man's ear, then spoke, loudly and clearly.

"Hey, Riley, didn't you have something to get in Diagon Alley? You should get it now."

The man jumped ever so slightly, then glanced around, blinking owlishly at his surroundings. Harry stepped back as the man yawned and stretched, then reached into a pocket in his robes to remove his money pouch.

"I'm off, Tom. Got to finish what I came in for."

Tom bustled over and accepted the coins from the man.

"Alright, Stephen. Have a good night."

"Yeah, you as well. G'night."

Stephen turned and headed towards the back of the pub, Harry following dutifully behind him. As he stepped out the door and headed towards the brick wall hiding the Alley, Harry patted him on the back.

"Thanks, mate. Sorry to take you away from your drink like that, but I need to restock, you know. Maybe someone's birthday is coming up."

The man seemed not to notice him, and pulled out his wand to tap the brick. As soon as the wall started separating, Harry thanked the man once more before walking through him and into the alley.

Glancing around at the various shops, Harry made his way deeper into the alley.

~*~*~*~*~

The man writhed on the ground, screaming in agony.

All around the dark hall, men stood silently, watching through the eye slits in their masks.

"Everything was safe, was it?" Hissed a voice that sent shivers down the assembled groups spines. "The rebels taken care of?"

There was no other sound, save the echoing screams from the figure on the floor. They were growing hoarse, but Lord Voldemort showed no signs of releasing the man.

"If everything was safe, I would not have lost fifty-four men. For that, you will suffer the consequences."

Red eyes gazed impassively around the room, landing on each individual figure before moving to the next.

"I suggest you all heed this warning. I will not tolerate failures like this again. If you wish to make a report to me, you had better be sure of its truth. Do you understand?"

The response was simultaneous. "Yes, my Lord."

"Now, I suggest you all go back to your posts and work to discover the rebel scum that caused the explosion!"

As one, the assembled Death Eaters turned and left the hall with carefully measured steps.

Alone with the still screaming Death Eater on the floor, Vodemort turned crimson eyes back to his little game.


	4. Chapter 4

_I think I saw bigfoot…oh wait! It's a chapter!_

_Okay, sorry for the wait. I haven't really had a life until now. Didn't realize how busy I'd be this semester. Thanks for sticking with me! As always, reviews make the world go 'round! (Well, this one at least.)  
_

_Harry Potter and all characters belong to Rowling. I'm just messing around with them for a bit._

* * *

"Weasley. Up. Now."

Ron's eyes snapped open, and he found himself standing before his mind had completely caught up with his actions. Following habit, he continued moving, staring at the man in the doorway warily.

"Moody?"

The gruff man nodded, as Ron slid a shirt over his head and slid his wand out of the ever-present holster on his forearm.

"What is it?"

"Meet in the office. Now. I'm gathering everyone together. Dumbledore is on his way."

"Yes, sir."

Moody turned and left, leaving a puzzled and slightly nervous Ron to tie up his boots. After all, emergency meetings in the middle of the night were rarely good news.

Snatching up his cloak, he swept out of his small room and heading towards the office.

~*~*~*~*~

"Who the hell could have done it?"

The news that the greenhouses deep in the Forbidden Forest had been blown up had come as a huge shock to every member of the Order who was present. The fact that someone or some group had succeeded in a task that had claimed just over a dozen lives was shocking.

"Alas, I'm afraid this is not the only news I have to give you all." Ex-professor Albus Dumbledore stood at the head of a large Mahogany table, staring out at them all with clear blue eyes.

Everyone sat silently, waiting.

Ron still wasn't sure how he felt about the secondary attack on the greenhouses. On one hand, it meant that the Order of the Phoenix had a potential alley willing to spit in Voldemort's face. On the other hand, this pseudo-ally was a dangerous entity, probably a well-coordinated group that could operate undetected under Voldemort's very nose. There was no clearly-defined motive, nothing to prove that this was in fact a group outside of Voldemort's control—this could just be a clever ploy created by Voldemort. But to what ends? Ron let the thoughts run through his head in a jumble as he waited for the headmaster to continue.

"After these events, I did some searching of my own, and have found that there have been a string of Death Eater killings. Alone, each death seemed like a freak accident, or a lucky shot in a battle. However, looking at them as a string of murders, there is a certain consistency that runs through them all. I have been led to the conclusion that someone is killing off Voldemort's followers."

Everyone sat back and digested this bit of information. They were not the only group fighting back against the Dark Lord's oppression, they knew, but they knew of the groups, occasionally worked together. That Dumbledore had not mentioned any of the other Guerrilla groups led the Order members to believe that they too were unaware of this newcomer to the fight.

"How long have these killings been taking place?"

Dumbledore shrugged slightly. "The best information I can gather leads me to believe that they have been happening for several years, possibly up to seven or eight years. They were much sloppier in the past, but they are unmistakably the product of the same person."

Bill Weasley leaned forward, staring intently at the headmaster. "You think it's one person then, not a group?"

Dumbledore turned to Bill, and nodded. "Yes. I do believe that this is the work of one person. My best guess leads me to believe that this person was once a high-ranking member of the death eaters, who for some reason has become disenchanted or…has decided to usurp the Dark Lord."

Silence met the end of this statement, as everyone considered the possibilities. This person was destroying Voldemort's ranks without the Dark Lord's knowledge; how powerful was he?

Laughter exploded from the back corner of the room, ignored by the rest of the order.

Harry slid down the wall, clutching his stomach with his good arm.

"Oh, that's a good one!" He cackled. "Everyone bow to the Dark Lord Harry!" He lost it again, lying on the floor, howling with mirth.

"How did you receive this information?" Moody questioned. Harry sobered up instantly, leaning in to better hear the answer.

Dumbledore considered his words carefully for a moment, before speaking.

"I have a contact who is able to keep an eye on the actions of Voldemort. This person is keeping me well informed, and has my trust."

Harry narrowed his eyes at that, thinking over all the faces he'd come to memorize. One of them was a mole? He grinned wickedly. Well, he had his next project. He could use a mole.

"How do you know you can trust this contact?" Ron spoke up. Harry stared at his old friend for a moment before letting his gaze slide to the old man.

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "We have a working agreement. I have received much valuable information that has led me to believe we have an ally willing to work against Voldemort from the inside."

Harry moved until he was standing behind Kingsley Shacklebolt. He curiously traced a finger down the large scar that ran down the back of the man's bald head, before leaning in and whispering in his ear.

"Is it possible this informant is the one behind the killings? Could he be playing both sides?"

Harry stood, never taking his eyes off Dumbledore.

"I do not believe so, no. The informant was only made aware of these killings after the destruction of the greenhouses, when Voldemort flew into a rage with his remaining followers who had been present at the time of the explosion."

"Hate to be him." Harry muttered. He stepped over behind a silent Tonks, her hair black and shoulder-length at the moment. He leaned down to her ear much like he had with Kingsley and whispered.

She didn't say anything, just stared ahead, lost in thought.

"Dammit, Tonks. You could be a bit of a help, you know?" He leaned close to her ear again and spoke louder. "Why is this an emergency meeting?"

Nothing.

Harry smacked the woman on the back of her head. "Bad Tonks! I want to ask a question!"

She remained impassive, listening as the meeting continued. Harry slumped for a moment. Sometimes, he just wasn't able to get through to people. Usually he could, but…

He looked around at all the serious faces. They had been dragged up out of bed at two in the morning to be told something that could have easily waited until daybreak. Why wasn't anyone questioning this?

"Sir?" Harry glanced over at Ron, who was looking around with some confusion.

"Go ahead." Dumbledore urged.

"Well, we appreciate the information and all, but why did you call this meeting now? Why not wait until later? I was under the impression that this was an emergency meeting."

"Yes!" Harry cheered. "I knew you were my friend for a reason!"

Dumbledore's face grew serious. "Alas, my contact did have some disturbing news. Voldemort is aware that one among him is a spy. He is planning an attack, yet I believe he will give different information to his various followers. We may receive news of an attack within a day or so, but I urge you all not to act on that information until I can confirm its validity. I called this meeting now because I have no way of knowing when this warning may come. It could be in two hours, or two days. I needed you to be informed."

Harry stared at the headmaster without seeing, deep in thought. Well, he definitely had his work cut out for him. It would be exhausting, but every once in a while he needed to feel exhausted. It let him know he was still alive. With a grin, Harry turned to his previous headmaster.

"Well sir, thank you for the information, but I really do have to leave. Pressing matters and all. Ta!" With a final salute, he turned and walked back through the wall.


	5. Chapter 5

_What's this? I do exist! All you people who are actually staying with this and reading the chapters after all these waits are awesome. The ones who review are even better! I love reading reviews! Here's a bit of a longer chapter for you all._

_Disclaimer: Not mine…blah blah blah…yadda yadda…you get it._

* * *

Over the years, it had become commonplace for those in those in the ranks of the death eaters to move into the main headquarters. It made them so much easier to monitor, to keep under control. External influences were cut down dramatically, as competition between the ranks to prove their worth increased. Only those who were in a critical placement outside the ranks, such as spies, were permitted to house elsewhere.

Harry still thought the bunk beds were hilarious, though.

The death eaters slept in a long dormitory with beds lining the walls, two trunks and two wardrobes for every bunk. Like Hogwarts dorms on steroids.

Chuckling to himself, he stepped down the center of the aisle, peering at the snoring faces around him. About half of the remaining force were out on patrols so these men were taking full advantage of their time off, catching up on some much needed sleep, much to Harry's delight. After all, it was much easier to talk to someone when they were sleeping.

"Hmm…where to begin?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully, thinking about all the death eaters he knew. Who might the mole be? Prattleburn? Yaxley? Derickson? No…he'd be too happy to lick Voldemort's toes if he got half a chance. Harry stopped to ponder that image for a moment, not quite sure whether it made him want to laugh or throw up more. Maybe the Dark Lord was ticklish? Shaking himself out of it, he continued. Maybe he should just pick someone at random and see where that led him.

Turning left, he found himself at the bedside of a younger death eater, Thomson, or something. The man was sprawled on his stomach, one sock-clad foot sticking out over the edge of the bed. Picture of dignity, that.

Harry crouched down, the better to see the man's squished-looking face. "Your name is Thomson, yeah?"

Thomson grumbled a bit in his sleep, and nodded. Harry grinned.

"Knew it! When'd you sign up to be a death eater, anyway?"

Thomson's voice was muffled by the pillow, but Harry had long hours of practice deciphering muddled words, and had no problem understanding. "'Bout three muns 'go"

"Ah, a newbie, then. Bet you get picked on a fair amount."

"Feckin' Malfoy…feckin' 'Strange."

Harry nodded wisely. "She is something of a psychotic bitch, yes. And I'm pretty sure I know where his cane disappeared to."

"'Sactly."

"You want to kill them?"

"Meh."

"Turn them over to the other side?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Have any conversations with Albus Dumbledore lately?"

"Wrinkly old fossil."

Harry snorted. Sleep conversations were always so much fun. "Can't be denied. Are you a mole?"

"No. 'M a deather." Thomson giggled a little. Harry noticed a drool spot spreading across his pillow.

"So you haven't betrayed Voldemort?"

"Feck no. Not s'pose t'say 'is name."

"Fair enough. I'll let you get on with your sleep, then. Dream of Bella's head on a pike."

"Crazy bitch."

Harry stood and picked another bed at random. Again, he conversed with the death eater, Roberts, who, though amusing, was not a spy. He repeated the process several times, until at last, some men began shifting around, waking up.

Deciding to have a bit of fun before he left, he made his way over to a specific bunk.

"Hello, Yaxley. Are you having a good night's sleep?"

"Mmm…yeah."

"Okay, is your teddy bear in it? The one your mum bought for you when you were six?"

By now, a few tousle-haired death munchers were sitting up in their bunks, stretching and rubbing the sand from their eyes.

Yaxley sniffed. "Mr. Tubby Bear?"

That got their attention. Harry held in his snort. "Oh, he's not there, then? I'm sorry. Where did he go?"

"Uncle Patrick stole my Mr. Tubby. Said I wasn't using him right." The large man sniffed again. "I miss my Tubby Bear."

Looking around, Harry noticed some of the men waking the others up, grinning and pointing in Yaxley's direction.

"If you got him back, would you use him right?"

A slow grin spread across Yaxley's face that would have sent babies into conniptions. "Mmm…heheheh, yeah. Use him right. Mr. Tubby. Tubby Wubby."

Harry stared at the man for five seconds before he could hold it no longer, then cracked up.

He wasn't the only one.

As he stood, it was with the consolation that although he hadn't found the mole, he had guaranteed the mother-raping pile of anal seepage in front of him would have a very bad day.

Howls of laughter filled the room as Harry traipsed out of the dormitory, still smiling to himself. "Ah, a man and his teddy bear."

Harry was making his way towards the main entrance to the manor when he paused, thinking. Maybe there was a way to ensure the Order got the right message when Voldemort gave the plans?

He turned slowly, and stared towards a staircase at the end of the hall. Voldemort's quarters were on the top floor of the building. They were well-protected, but Harry had yet to find a ward that affected him too badly in his current state. However, Harry had made it a habit to avoid the Dark Lord. His mind was too protected, so he was closed to anything Harry told him, making conversation fairly pointless, not that Harry would go out of his way to converse with Voldemort. However, he seemed to be able to sense that Harry was near; it was obvious he didn't know _who_ was watching him, or _where_ that person was, but Voldemort knew he wasn't alone. And after he'd shot that widespread buzzer through the room that had managed to make all Harry's hair stand straight up on end, he'd decided not to test his luck.

But, maybe he could just wait around outside the door, and wait for Mallix to show up. Mallix was Harry's name for the smug psycho duo competing for their lord's top graces, and while they, too, were closed off to him, they couldn't sense him like Voldemort. Maybe if he snuck in Tommy-boy's chambers between the dueling duo, Voldie's Harry senses wouldn't tingle so much.

Harry blinked. Shook his head. Started up the stairs.

* * *

Ron stared around at the silent trees. A soft breeze tickled his cheek, and the sun shone brightly down through the boughs. He sighed. Looking around, there was no way anyone would guess a war was tearing its way across the country.

Even the muggles, who everyone had been sure would be hit the hardest, were still blissfully unaware at how close they were to the brink of destruction. Maybe that's why the International Confederation of Wizards was doing so little to help. It had been a surprise move, but Voldemort had opted not to start his campaign anew with widespread destruction. Instead, he had been positively cautious, opting to guarantee that any and all opposition was crushed before moving on. And although they were hanging by a thread, Dumbledore's Order proved to be enough of a threat that Voldemort would not continue his campaign until every member was dead.

He had taken over the ministry, but at the moment, that was running actually fairly smoothly. Thus, the ICW would not interfere; the government overthrow was finished, and there was no anarchy in the British Wizarding World.

They were on their own.

A hawk screamed somewhere overhead, and Ron glanced up at the mostly clear sky, watching the small figure wheel and turn on the currents.

"Ron?"

He turned and smiled at the person stepping out from behind the nearest tree.

"Hey, Hermione. How are you feeling?"

Hermione looked far different than she had twelve years ago. Her hair was cut short, and had lost some of its bushiness. She was thin, her skin still a bit too pale. Across her left cheek, a deep, jagged scar marred the flesh. She had barely escaped with her life when the death eaters had come to call, and it had taken several months before she was able to walk again.

Now, four years after the attack, she ran a safe house deep in the Red Rose Forest near Liverpool. Any muggleborns or muggles who had been effected by the uprising were able to come here to the safe zone, affectionately dubbed 'The Camp'.

Carrying on in the tradition of their old school club, the DA, all able-bodied campers worked to educate the occupants of the camp, making sure children learned all the school material they would need later on in life, as well as how to defend themselves from attack and survive on their own.

Ron made it a point to visit at least once a month.

Hermione smiled. "A bit tired, but I'm doing well. Mrs. Parksey just had a son last night."

"Really? That's great! How is she?"

Hermione tucked her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt and stepped closer to Ron, leaning with her back against the tree.

"She's doing well. Very well." Hermione was quiet for a moment, before snorting softly. "Guess what she's naming him?"

Ron shrugged. "What?"

"Harold."

Ron laughed. "Oh, Harry would be cringing at that."

Hermione smiled. "Yes, he would. I can't believe it; twelve years later and 'Harry', or derivations of that name, are still the most popular. I'd love to see his face at the thought."

Ron sighed, stretching. "Hey, Hermione," he started, his face screwed up in thought.

"What is it?"

He glanced over at her and smiled. "Probably nothing, but…I've been having some weird dreams the past few months. And there have been a few odd occurrences."

"Well, you'll have to give me more than that before I can tell you how crazy you are."

"Ha ha. Well, it started after we tried to take out the greenhouses that Voldemort was keeping in the old Forbidden Forest."

Hermione frowned. "How did that go? I never heard."

Ron looked away from her, focusing on the bark of a tree across from him. I thin line of ants marched their way up the trunk. "It was a trap."

"Oh no."

"Yeah." Ron crossed his arms and continued. "A lot of good people died. I only got out on a lucky shot; grazed by something that knocked me out of the way of an AK, but it passed so close I had a burn mark on my forehead. I fell down into a ditch and got knocked out, and by the time I woke up again, it was all over."

"Oh, Ron. I'm so sorry."

He glanced up at her distressed face, and shrugged. "We made a mistake. Someone we thought of as a friend double-crossed us, and we paid for it. Heavily. All we can do now is keep going and work so that all those who died didn't do so in vain." He rubbed a hand over his face, sighing again.

"Anyways, I was walking through the forest, because I didn't want to test whether or not the anti-apparitions were still up, and I had gotten pretty lost. But I was following these…they looked like footprints. Smaller than mine. And not like boots or shoes, but actual footprints. It was bizarre, and I knew there couldn't be some kid's bare footprints out in the middle of the Forbidden Forest in a heavy rainstorm, because that would mean the kid was still out there, but there you have it. So I was following them, and they just…ended. No more."

Hermione was listening avidly, and glancing at her, Ron could almost see her jotting down mental notes as she committed his story to memory.

"Whosever footprints those were, they didn't double back at all?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. They could have. I wasn't exactly in top tracking form at the time. But after the tracks ended, I just started up in some random direction. After awhile, I could hear this scratching noise up ahead, like something scraping across wood, so I looked for it. There was this small grove of trees, and when I pushed through, there was writing on the side of this massive log. It said, 'don't follow the spiders, Ron.' I realized then that was where Harry and I had travelled in second year, when we followed the spiders. I'd nearly stumbled back into Aragog's den."

He stopped and watched Hermione closely for a reaction. She looked stunned, and was already thinking out any possibilities.

"Who else knew about that incident?" She finally asked.

Ron chuckled. "Hagrid, Dumbledore, Fudge, Malfoy, and of course Harry."

She frowned. "You think it was Harry?"

Ron chuckled, the idea that had been gnawing at the back of his brain coming finally into the light. "I don't know, Mione. It's crazy. There's no way it could have been him, but…" He shrugged.

Hermione nodded. "But. No one knows what happened to him. Voldemort never celebrated like we thought he would at the murder of the Boy Who Lived. We don't know what happened to him. It might not be as crazy as it seems." She hesitated, thinking, before she continued. "What about the dreams you mentioned?"

Ron chuckled again, feeling insane just talking about the dreams. Hermione was the only person who would even consider sharing with, and even now he felt somewhat embarrassed.

"Well, sometimes I dream that I'm lying in my bed and Harry's there next to me, and we just talk."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. About regular stuff. Things from school, things from everyday life. Just like we used to. We just spend the night chatting with each other. Sometimes he helps me work through problems that I've been facing during the day in missions and such, and sometimes we talk about quidditch. But it feels so real, you know?"

"What does he look like in your dreams?"

Ron suspected that if anyone else had asked that, he would have chafed at the implications, but Hermione sounded genuinely interested, so he supposed she wasn't preparing to send him off to an institution quite yet.

"Horrible." He admitted. "His clothes are all ragged, he's got blood all over. He limps pretty bad on one leg, and his arm's broken a few centimeters above his wrist. He looks like some of the prisoners we've rescued in the past."

"Like he's been tortured?"

"Yeah. Like he's been tortured. But he doesn't seem like he's in any pain. Actually, sometimes he seems crazy, like he isn't all there, but I don't think he feels pain. At least he doesn't show it to me, if he is. He's either serious or ridiculously cheerful, depending on what we're talking about."

The sky was steadily darkening as the forest around them quieted, but neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to notice.

"Do you think Voldemort may have done something to him so you can only see him in your sleep?"

Ron laughed. "No, I don't think Voldemort would be able to figure out a way to do that to someone. I doubt even Dumbledore'd be able to. Nope, I just think this is a case of someone sliding down the slope and clinging to some shadow of the past to stay sane. I guess he's become my part-time conscience or something."

Hermione laughed. "Merlin help you, then."

Ron smiled back. "I know, I know. I'm in trouble now." The smile slid off his face, and he found himself staring at the tree across from him again. "Sometimes I can almost feel him there when I'm awake. Like he's whispering in my ear. It's comforting, in a way. Terrifying though."

There was a long pause.

"I can't help but wonder if he's really dead or not. If he was a ghost, we'd all be able to see him, wouldn't we? And…he wouldn't have been able to carve in that wood, if he was."

He jumped slightly as Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. He hadn't seen her move. She smiled at him, and pulled him into a tight hug, which he fell gratefully into. Ron blinked sharply at the stinging in his eyes.

"Am I going crazy, Mione?"

"No." She whispered in his ear, holding him tight. "But I think you have a very good friend looking out for you."

Ron let out a slightly strained chuckle.

"You know I'm going to do everything I can to try and figure this out."

"What should I do?"

He felt Hermione shrug slightly. "Accept it. Maybe next time you have a dream with Harry there, ask him if he's really there, or trapped, or something. Try and find out if he knows what happened."

"I tried asking him once, but he kept changing the subject. I kind of gave up when I realized I was getting frustrated at a dream."

Hermione tightened her hold on him for a moment, before letting him go.

"Maybe it isn't all a dream. Especially if you feel him when you're awake." She looked into his eyes, and he remembered why he had loved her so much in school. Why he still did. She continued. "The next time that happens, try and…latch onto that feeling somehow. I don't know. But I don't think you're crazy, Ronald Weasley. I don't want you to think that either."

Ron smiled, somewhat shakily, and took a deep breath.

"Okay."

She smiled back at him. "It's getting late. Do you want to stay here, or head back?"

Ron looked around, realizing just how dark it was. "I should get back. Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

He gave her one more swift hug. "Thank you. For everything."


	6. Chapter 6

_Okay, so hopefully the plot will start forming a bit, here. Not a lot of action, but I figure, it's summer break and you guys shouldn't have to wait forever and a half for an update! So, here it is, chapter 6. Enjoy! (And please review!)_

_Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a bit._

_

* * *

_

Harry stood between and slightly behind the dreadful duo as they strode into the chambers of the Dark Lord, pretending to be small and slightly nonexistent in an effort to prevent Voldemort from sensing him.

The Dark Lord sat at a desk, watching them imperiously through narrowed red eyes. For a moment, he reminded Harry of a very creepy professor waiting for wayward students to report to detention. Like some kind of anorexic, red-eyed and bald Snape.

Pushing the image from his mind with some desperation, Harry focused on what the bald Snape was saying.

"Have you come any closer to discovering the mole?"

Mallix had been bowing, and the male left half glanced up at Voldemort.

"No, my Lord. Though we do believe that he is a mid-level Death Eater, having joined at least a year or so ago. That has narrowed our search down to fifty men."

Voldemort raised a nonexistent eyebrow. "And how have you come to this conclusion?"

Bellatrix raised her head as well, as Harry crouched down behind them, watching the exchange.

"My Lord, we have interviewed all the newer recruits, and they lack the power and experience to be any kind of effective spy. The older Death Eaters are all far too loyal to your cause and to you, My Lord. They would not dare."

The Dark Lord glared. "Have you so easily forgotten the treachery of Severus Snape? You would do well not to assume anything about any of the men in the ranks. If you miss the spy because of your faulty _assumptions_, than your suffering will rival even that of the last so-called spy. The enemy still have not found his head. Fail me, and you will see its location first hand."

Mallix bowed again, nodding. "Of course, My Lord." They whispered.

Harry snorted. "This would be really pathetic if they weren't so dangerous." A second later he slapped his good hand over his mouth as Voldemort's head shot up.

The man's nostrils flared, and Harry leaned in closer to the two death eaters on the floor. Harry held his breath, staring wide-eyed at the wizard in front of him.

Slowly, he crept backward towards the door, watching as Voldemort's eyes roamed around the room.

"My Lord?"

Quick as a flash, Voldemort had his wand out. With a wave, a concussion blast seemed to explode through the room, knocking Harry flat on his back. With a groan, he sat up, then froze as he noticed that nothing else in the room had been disturbed by the blast.

Mallix was staring at their Lord in confusion, though they didn't dare open their mouths.

Harry stood, forgoing caution, and quickly made his way to the door. He closed his eyes briefly as he stepped through the wood—Bump!

"Nammit!" Harry clutched his nose and stumbled back.

Then he froze.

Slowly, he reached out toward the door, his heart stopping as his fingers rested solidly against the wood. He turned around to stare at the Dark Lord in rising horror.

"You can't see me…" He whispered.

The Dark Lord was staring straight at the door, though Harry noticed, with a rush of relief that his gaze was directed a good few inches above his head.

Out of a strange and nearly forgotten sense of habit, Harry drew his wand before quickly and silently making his way around the perimeter of the room, no longer caring about the mole hiding within Voldemort's ranks.

He'd spent twelve years trying to get people to notice him. But he'd be damned if Voldemort was the first.

Running his hand along the wall, he felt for the familiar softness of the material, that _give_ that allowed him to pass through solid objects. But so far, everything he felt was surprisingly firm.

"My Lord," Bellatrix breathed. She was always the craziest. Maybe that's why Vodemort kept her around. It had to be refreshing.

Harry brought his mind back on track, still conceding to the point that he definitely wouldn't have been the one to break the silence when Voldemort had been looking around with that look on his face.

"Silence!" Voldemort hissed. "We are not alone."

Bellatrix and Malfoy jumped slightly and stared wildly around, trying to pierce the shadows of the room.

"Yes!" Harry cheered quietly as his hand sunk through the window. Glancing back at Voldemort, he noticed the man was now randomly shooting a light blue spell into the room that swirled like mist and glittered like fake vampires. Not wanting to stick around and discover what the mist was supposed to do, he pulled himself through the window and dropped.

He had forgotten how many stairs he had climbed to get to the room. Voldemort's chambers had been on the fifth floor. He only had time enough for a good curse that would have made the Weasley twins blush and to cast a desperate cushioning charm before he hit the ground with a muffled thump.

* * *

The man was tall, with brown hair and a thick mustache. He stood proudly, his back straight, the very picture of cultured upbringing. When he walked, his steps were measured, and even the swing of his arms was calculated to produce only the finest balance. His dark maroon robes swept elegantly around his ankles as he strode confidently through the ministry.

Behind him, a slightly shorter man with shoulder-length black hair neatly combed back into a leather band kept pace. His dark green robes were finely trimmed and laced with black at the edges, so they seemed to shift and swirl in the shadows. He was every bit the picture of fine aristocratic upbringing that his companion was, and the younger and lower rank ministry officials scurried out of their way as they passed.

Finally, in a near empty corridor, the taller man spoke in a rich baritone.

"It was on the tenth level, was it not, Reginald?"

"Indeed," The shorter man acquiesced silkily. "I do believe you're correct, Sir Kikimufoo."

The taller man sniffed. "That's Sir MacFully, you arrogant bilge rat."

"Of course, sir." Reginald bowed gracefully.

Silence descended once again as they made their way to the lifts. Once inside, they stood straight, hands clasped behind their backs in the most dignified pose they could muster.

"I don't know how they do this every day."

"Right you are, Sir Fully. I'll need a long bath just to soak the slime off."

"Not before I get one, Ralph."

"Reginald."

"That too."

With a soft ding, the lift stopped and the doors slid open and the two men strode gracefully out into the corridor of level 9.

"Department of Mysteries." The lift cheerfully chimed behind them.

Ignoring the door at the end of the hall, the two men turned left and descended to the next level—level 10.

Courtroom ten was down here, waiting for trials to be held on the most hardened of criminals, or nowadays, more often on spies or those accused of going against the current ministry's wishes.

Stepping through the final door, Reginald and Sir MacFully found themselves in the pit of the courtroom, facing a chair lined with chains; the prisoner's seat. Up above, rows of benches rose up, where the Wizangamot would sit during a trial.

"Alright, Sir Fluffy. Left side third brick?"

The brown haired man shook his head. "No, No, Rupert. It's the fourth brick from the left side."

"Oh, yes. Right you are."

"Seventh brick up, yes?"

"Nah, it's the seventh down."

"You're sure?"

"You doubt me?"

"Not at all, Reagan."

"I should hope not."

Together, they strode over to the wall formed before the first row of benches. Thirteen bricks high. Standing at the far left, Sir MacFully counted seven up from the bottom, while Reginald insisted on counting down from the top.

Meeting at the seventh brick, they shot each other a grin before jabbing their wands into opposite ends of the brick.

A soft click echoed through the otherwise empty chamber, before the brick slid slowly into the wall, reminiscent of the entrance to Diagon Alley. The surrounding bricks slid out of sight, and soon, there was a narrow opening, just large enough for the two men to squeeze in. As they disappeared from sight, the bricks slid back into place behind them, leaving nothing but an empty courtroom.

* * *

The door closed behind him, and Ron leaned against the wood with his eyes shut gently. For a moment, he just stood quietly, breathing in the slightly musty smell that would always be associated with Grimmauld Place, no matter how clean it was.

"Ron?"

Blue eyes opened and he smiled at his older brother.

"Hey Bill."

The taller man stepped over to lean against the wall next to him.

"How are you doing?"

Ron shrugged.

"Fine, I guess. I just went to visit Hermione."

"Yeah?" Bill grinned. "How's she doing?"

"Fine. She looks better. I guess Mrs. Parksey just had a son. Guess what she named him?"

"Oh no," Bill shook his head, chuckling. "Don't tell me."

"Yeah. Harold."

They shared a quiet laugh, before Ron sighed. "I'm exhausted. I'm gonna head up to bed, alright?"

"No dinner?"

"I picked something up on my way back."

"Alright. You take care of yourself, brother. I'm heading out tomorrow. Apparently the twins found something they want my help with."

"Oh no."

"Yeah, I'm a bit worried myself. With those two, you never can tell. But it's sure to give Voldemort a headache, so whatever it is, it'll be well worth it."

"Yeah. You take care of yourself."

"You too."

The two brothers shared a hug before Ron made his way upstairs to his room. It was nothing like his old room at the Burrow; the walls were bare, save for a few old photographs of him and his friends, and one of his whole family together, smiling and waving in front of the Burrow. That one had been taken just after Ginny had started Hogwarts, and everyone had been happy and whole.

The Burrow had been burned to the ground in an attack two years ago. It was in that attack that Ron had lost his parents, his oldest brother Charlie, and his baby sister, Ginny. He had been devastated, but the remaining brothers had banded together and given each other strength.

Turning away from the picture, Ron sat on his bed, focusing just long enough to slip his boots off. His father had wondered at them, Ron remembered fondly.

"_Zippers _and_ laces?"_

"_Yeah, dad. You lace it up to where they're comfortable, then whenever you zip them up, they're already tightened to where they need to be."_

"_The things those muggles think of…"_

Ron was asleep before his head hit the pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

_Yes, another chapter! Again, thanks for reading, everyone, and please please please review! I love reading them, and I love knowing what you guys think. The structure's finally coming together, and hopefully things will start moving quicker from now on. So, on with the show!_

_Disclaimer: Not mine, just messing with the characters a bit._

_

* * *

_

"Phew...you're not gonna believe this, mate, but I think he's on to me."

Ron Weasley rolled over on his bed, facing the noise, and grunted.

Harry leaned with his back against the wall before sliding down to a sitting position on the floor.

"I mean, I knew he could sense that someone was there; that's why I was hiding, you know?"

"How were you hiding?"

Harry always loved talking with a sleeping Ron. He was the most cognizant out of anyone Harry talked to, and at times, it was almost like his friend was seeing him. Once or twice he had opened his eyes, though he was still asleep. Somehow, Harry knew that if his situation was to ever change, it would be Ron to help him.

Harry sighed. "I snuck into V's chambers between Mallix."

Ron snorted forth a laugh. "I don't know how you came up with that name, but somehow, it fits."

"I know. That's why I love it."

"What happened?" Ron shifted again against his pillow, and Harry was reminded of the Gryffindor dorm back at school, staying up late and chatting about quidditch, or whatever happened to be on either boy's mind.

"He knew I was there. But more than that, he almost captured me again. I don't know how, because he couldn't see me, but he cast this spell that stopped me from going through the walls. I only just made it through the window."

"The window?"

"Yeah." Harry sighed, and shifted his leg. "If this leg wasn't broken before, I'm sure it is now. Makes walking a bit difficult, but I'm getting better at apparition."

"Just remember the three D's." Ron mumbled with a soft grin.

Harry laughed. "Yeah. Destination, Determination, Deliberation. You've told me enough times."

Ron's face grew more somber, and his eyes slid open. "Harry?"

Harry shifted his weight against the wall, ignoring the goose bumps that always rose along his flesh when Ron did this. He hadn't been seen in a long time, but Ron was as close as it came.

"Yeah?"

"If you're dead, how can you get hurt again? How could you break your leg?"

Silence filled the room as Harry considered his answer. It was the same question that had been plaguing him for twelve years. But now, with recent events, he felt a swelling in his chest as he finally knew the answer.

"I'm not dead, Ron."

* * *

"Matheson, back here!"

"It's MacFully, you pinheaded dolt!"

"Right, right, and I'm the Queen of England."

"No, you're Reginoodle."

"Oh, right."

The two men traced their way through the maze of corridors they now found themselves in, passing an old piece of parchment between them.

"Once Bartholomew gets here, we'll be able to finish this map. The whole South end is blocked off." Reginald muttered, looking over the blank spaces on the parchment.

"Yes, and he seems to be taking his sweet time." Sir MacFully muttered.

Reginald leaned against the leftmost wall, and looked out at the fork ahead of the two. "Do you think maybe we should help him along some?"

MacFully stroked his mustache and grinned. "I think that may be in order. Where are we now?"

Reginald consulted the map they had been working on for the past few weeks. "Let's see, we should take a left up ahead, and that will place us in the men's toilet just off the lobby."

"Brilliant." MacFully raised a hand to his face, quickly twisting a dark ring on his finger twice.

The red stone adorning the ring darkened for a moment, before a blurry face seemed to swirl into existence within.

"Bartholomew, come in." He whispered to the ring.

Nothing happened for a moment, then the face became much clearer in the ring. Brown hair and hazel eyes stared up at MacFully.

"Where are you two? I can't get into courtroom ten at the moment; there's a full trial on!"

"Bartho, get up into the atrium, head to the men's toilet. Then, get into the second stall from the left. Let us know when you're in position."

Bartholomew raised an eyebrow, but nodded. His face went blurry once again.

"Alright, let's go."

* * *

Ron frowned. "What do you mean you're not dead? Voldemort killed you."

Harry shrugged, leaning against the wall and idly rubbing his right knee. "I don't really know how it's possible, but I'm pretty sure I'm not dead. Like you said, I wouldn't be getting more hurt if I was."

"Was that you in the forest, after we were ambushed?"

Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Yeah, I was trying to lead you out, but do you know how exhausting it is to keep contact with things? Those footprints were really hard to make."

"Is that why they disappeared?"

"Uh-huh." Harry frowned and pointed at Ron. "And I thought I'd led you far enough out of the forest to where you'd recognize it, and then you just turned around and headed straight off back _into_ the forest, you big dummy!"

"I wasn't exactly on top form, you know."

Harry noticed movement to his left and spun around. An old man was peering curiously into the room, his long white beard tucked into his purple nightgown. Harry stared at his half-moon spectacles for a moment, thinking, before taking a deep breath.

"Ron, I need your help."

"Anything, Harry. What do you want me to do?"

Dumbledore frowned slightly, watching Ron talk in his sleep.

"I want—I want you to repeat after me." Harry decided, a grin starting to spread across his face.

"Repeat after you? Why?"

"Just do it. Say, 'Harry Potter isn't dead.'"

"Harry Potter isn't dead."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, and he stepped further into the room, keeping silent. He watched as Ron shifted slightly, still staring blankly at the wall across from the bed.

"He's in this room right now."

Blue eyes began to twinkle slightly.

"And he sees you spying on his friend you lemon drop-sucking old goat!"

Albus' mouth dropped open, and his eyes widened, before his face split into a broad grin.

"Harry?" He whispered slightly. "Are you really here?"

Harry jumped up as quickly as his now broken leg would allow, threw his right arm out in a welcoming gesture and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "DUMBLEDORE!"

Ron shouted out in surprise and jumped up from the bed, looking about wildly.

"What? Dumble—oh hi, sir." He mumbled, recognizing the man in the doorway.

Dumbledore continued smiling. "Well, my boy. I daresay we have much to talk about, don't we?"

Ron blushed. "I-I guess so, sir." He ran a hand through his hair, not quite meeting his mentor's gaze. "Um, how long were you in here?"

Albus smiled. "Long enough. It seems we have many things to clear up, wouldn't you say?"

Harry stared between Dumbledore and Ron, and nervously licked his lips. After a moment's hesitation on Ron's part, Harry smacked his friend upside the head. "Come on, say something!"

Ron flinched slightly, and nodded. "Yes, I guess we do, sir."

The old man gestured to Ron, who followed him out of the room. Before the door closed, however, Dumbledore looked back into the seemingly empty room.

"Oh, and Harry, if you are there and not a figment of two people's exhausted musings, you had better come along as well."

He turned away, and the door closed behind him with a click.

A broad grin spreading across his face, Harry saluted the door where Dumbledore had been standing, before following as quick as he was able.

* * *

"Okay, I'm in position." Came the whisper from MacFully's ring.

He twisted it and raised it to his mouth. "Okay, flush the toilet, then step down on the second bolt from the right, the one against the wall. Once you do that, then sit down and stay there."

Bartholomew sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "I don't even want to know how you two find all this stuff."

Reginald leaned in and grinned at Bartho's face. "Because we're brilliant. That's how."

"Now just do it, and we'll see you in a moment." MacFully finished.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Bartholomew out."

The man's face faded from view, and Reginald and MacFully were left standing in a dark corridor waiting.

"You think he'll do it?" Regionald grinned.

"'Course he will. It'll just take a few moments so he can deem it safe." MacFully stroked his mustache lovingly.

"Can't believe he'd think us capable of pranking a secret entrance to a secret tunnel in the Ministry of Magic. And why did you have to grow that ridiculous thing, anyway?"

"Honestly, the nerve of him. And for your information, this mustache is very dashing, you know? All the rage amongst the elite of society, which I note you are not." MacFully finished with a sniff.

Reginald leaned against the wall, while pointing at the hairy log in question. "It looks like a ferret. I keep expecting it to start twitching. It's rather distracting, actually."

"Ooh, good idea. Twitching mustaches, five sickles each."

"To replace the non-twitching ferret on a truly deserving target."

"Exactly."

There was a sound of a toilet flushing nearby, and after a few seconds, a panel in the wall slid open to reveal Bartholomew sitting on a toilet and gripping its sides with white knuckles. While Sir MacFully turned to greet the newest member of their odd group, Reginald pulled out his wand, and cast a quick spell.

"Ah, here he is, the man of the hour." Reginald greeted, tucking his wand away while stepping forward and helping the slightly taller man to his feet.

"It flushes you into the wall? Why didn't you tell me this?"

MacFully grinned, his mustache now twitching merrily. "Well, that would have taken all the fun out of it, now, wouldn't it?"

Bartholomew sighed. "Well, what did you two hooligans call me all the way here for?"

"Hooligans? Really?" Reginald pushed Bartho's shoulder, guiding him down the dark corridor.

"We get no respect, I tell you. Turn right here."

"Exactly my point, Mac-whatsits. How many people could have found a secret underground catacomb of passages and tunnels right in the heart of the ministry?"

"Access to every room and office held within? Is it left here, or right, I can't remember."

"You have the map, dolt."

"Oh, right."

Bartholomew sighed, and let the garrulous men lead him deeper into the maze of passages they'd found.

"Where exactly are you taking me?" He finally asked, after what seemed like ages.

"Right here." MacFully gestured to the empty hallway ahead of them.

"Here?"

"Yes, Bartho, oh ex-curse breaker extraordinaire. Don't tell me you don't feel it."

Bartholomew closed his eyes and felt the ambient magic around himself. Taking a deep breath, he let his magic flow around him, feeling out the walls and floor, and- "Holy crap."

Reginald grinned. "There it is."

MacFully's mustache chattered its agreement.

Bartho opened his eyes and stared at the hallway ahead, before quickly casting an occulomagi spell that would allow him to see the wards ahead. His breath caught at the multiple layers intricately placed along the hallway, woven into the very stone around them.

After gazing at the wards for a few minutes and doing a preliminary scan, he canceled the spell and turned to his companions, his eyes bright and excited.

"And where does this lead to, exactly?"

MacFully and Reginald grinned, and for a moment, they almost looked like twins.

"The Department of Mysteries." They answered together.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hey everyone, sorry for the ridiculous wait. Unfortunately, I don't think they'll improve much; it's the fourth week into the semester and I've already written three short papers, two long papers, read about 200 pages in a literature anthology, read _Heart of Darkness_, and written two short plays. And I just joined Kung Fu. Really. So, I'm kind of busy. But I won't abandon this story! I know this chapter is pretty short, but hopefully I'll be able to get you guys a long one next time. And the plot will definitely start moving. Thanks to everyone who's stuck with this, and who reviews, you guys are awesome!_

_

* * *

_

Bartholomew stared at the two for a moment, unblinking. "The Department of Mysteries?"

Reginald's grin widened. "That's right, my good man." He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. "The Department…of Mysteries."

MacFully's sophisticated mask disappeared for a brief moment as he seemed to vibrate in place, threatening to pee his pants in sheer joyful anticipation. "It's like a dream come true, isn't it?"

Slowly, a grin began spreading across Bartholomew's face. "You two are insane, you know that?"

MacFully regained some of his composure, though his was still grinning. "Mad geniuses, maybe."

"Definitely." Reginald corrected.

"Definitely. But can you imagine just a fraction of what we might find here?"

Bartho nodded, gazing ahead at the myriad of wards lining the passage ahead of them.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?" Reginald asked, stepping into place next to Bartho.

The older man nodded. "Yeah, I told Ron—"

Sir MacFully cleared his throat loudly behind Bartho.

"—aldo." Bartho finished awkwardly.

"Ronaldo? Really?"

"That's the best you can do?"

"He earns an Anita Peter at the very least."

"I was thinking more along the lines of Joachim Friedrich Graf von Bentick und Waldeck-Limpurg."

Reginald stopped, and blinked at Sir MacFully for a second, before conceding defeat. "Nice. Very nice."

Bartho choked on a laugh. "He'd never be able to say his own name!"

MacFully chuckled. "And therein lies the beauty."

"Anyway, getting back on track, do you think you could make your way through this lot, oh high and mighty curse-breaker?" Reginald asked, gesturing ahead.

Bartho considered for a moment before nodding. "I'll have to go and retrieve some gear, but I think we can definitely make it through. It'll take a few days though."

"Of course."

"Something like this, we can wait for."

* * *

Ron nervously followed his mentor down the dark hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place, running his most recent conversation with Hermione through his head.

So maybe they weren't dreams, then. Albus had been listening in on part of a conversation, and he had dreamt about Harry again. Harry, telling him he wasn't dead. Harry, looking even worse now that his leg was broken.

So, not a ghost.

What then?

He tried to follow Hermione's advice, pushing all other thoughts away and focusing on what it felt like to be laying there, talking to his friend. He could feel the near-itch on the back of his neck, as though he were being watched, yet when he turned, the hallway remained frustratingly empty.

Forgetting his frustration, he focused on the itch, trying to make it stronger, to maybe open up a bit. If Harry was there, he'd need someone to talk to, after all, and he wasn't asleep anymore.

"Ronald?"

Ron's head snapped up and he found himself blinking owlishly at Dumbledore. The man stood, holding open the door to his makeshift office and watching him with a calm smile.

"Sorry, sir. Just…just thinking too much."

"Alas, that is an ailment I suffer from occasionally myself. Make yourself comfortable, my boy." Ron walked through the door, and after a moment, Albus shut it.

Sitting himself in the plush chair behind his desk, Dumbledore observed Ron from behind steepled fingers, until Ron felt he was back in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts and waiting to hear what his punishment would be.

"Sir?" He asked finally, unable to contain himself.

"I was faced with quite a curious event as I was making my way back from a late night trip to the toilet. As I passed your room, I heard, quite clearly, someone talking, as if in conversation, yet there was no answering voice. Recognizing the voice as your own, my curiosity soon overcame me, and I found myself standing at your door and watching you. Though your eyes were open, it was clear you were deeply asleep, and watching someone who seemed to be near the wall, though I could see no one there myself. As I listened, it became clear who was at the other end of your conversation, and it seems that he became aware of my presence as well."

Ron leaned forward a bit. He could remember talking with Harry, though the details were a bit blurry. Harry had asked him to do something…

"What did he do, sir? Sorry, I'm a bit blurred on the details."

Dumbledore smiled. "Unless I'm very much mistaken, he asked you to repeat the words he was speaking, and if I remember correctly, his words through you were, '_Harry Potter is not dead. He is in this room right now. And he sees you spying on his friend you lemon drop-sucking old goat.'_ Though if he is in this room, I might ask him to retract the comment. I do not consider myself very old at all."

Ron snorted, wiping his mouth to hide his grin. And through that itch that he was still concentrating on, he felt a tinge of amusement that wasn't his own. Almost, as if he were thinking it himself, he could hear a familiar voice in the back of his mind saying '_Note he didn't comment on the lemon drop-sucking goat!_'

His smile vanished, and his eyes widened. Dumbledore watched him intently.

"What is it, my boy?"

"Sir, I think, I can feel something. It's stronger than it has been before."

"So am I to understand this is not a new occurrence?"

Ron nodded sheepishly, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. "This has happened before, sir. Though I didn't know I was talking out loud. I guess I thought they were very odd, comforting dreams, or else my conscience had gone slightly 'round the bend."

Again, he felt a slight twinge through the prickling sensation. Indignation?

Dumbledore folded his hands together, placing them on the desk in front of him as he considered the man sitting opposite.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, and tell me everything."


End file.
